One gamer's journey through the wide world of games and gaming culture.

Frigid ocean winds whipped up the shore, bringing Illisan back to the task at hand. Here the scourge thought to lay to waste the fledgling keep perched on the rocky shore. A dark grin lit up even her eyes, for behind the pathetic creatures on the shore was the will of the great twisted thing she truly hunted; a being more deserving of blade and bow than Illidan’s lost soul. The hunting would be good indeed.

The look of defeat on Maeve’s face has been a counterpoint to the victory in the Black Temple. Illisan had watched her keenly, wary of the warning Maeve represented to all those who hunt. Bow was laid down and a simpler life taken up. When the first calls of war rang, deeper into the branches of Teldrassil Illisan ranged. The haunted look in Maeve’s eyes, the demon she ran from.

No place in Azeroth is safe from Northrend’s chill these days. Visiting Rut’theran Village, intent to make her way further on to the tranquil lands of Moonglade, Illisan happened upon one of the boats bearing missives from the Northern War. Cursing herself for not marking the day and avoiding any who might try and bend her ear to the latest news. Illisan pulled her cloak’s hood over her head and hoped none would take note of her passing. Elune was not with her however, as a voice ringed out from the dock.

“Corporal Illisan of Darnasus?”

How long had she dodged having to answer to her old rank, a reminder of duties past? Old habits must die hard, for her back snapped at the boatman’s words.

“It’s been long since I lent my bow to war. Just a hunter now, tending the leaves of Teldrassil”

“Right…There’s a parcel here addressed to you ma’am. The hand is hard to read, an odd mix of dwarven and darnassin.” He handed over the heavy parcel, eyeing her; likely in hopes to the story behind the strange writing. He found none as Illisan wandered off holding the heavy parcel.

Illisan didn’t need to look at it to know who sent it and guess at the contents. The script and mix of language a clear sign of who the author was and if she was a day over 100 she knew the lashing likely heaped upon at the writer’s hand. Illisan had made Cruzor a promise before joining in the final offensive on the Temple, should war come he would find her by his side in the hunts to come. Cruzor would dance around it but Illisan couldn’t…she was an oath breaker for letting him walk into the frozen wastes alone. No amount of telling herself that Henry’s claws would keep any trouble from Cruz would change the fact; she should’ve gone and not run.

Moonspell looked up at her, black tail flipping from side to side, waiting for the inevitable decision to move north came. Looking down at the great black feline, Illisan shrugged, the letter could wait for the long boat rides ahead; first to Stormwind and from there north. Moonspell’s hackles raised and Illisan patted her bow as a north wind began to howl.